


Shock treatment

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-20
Updated: 2008-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal needs stitches with his shirt off - again. Simon is slow to take the hint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock treatment

**Author's Note:**

> Xiexie to [](http://thunder-nari.livejournal.com/profile)[**thunder_nari**](http://thunder-nari.livejournal.com/) and [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for the beta check

Another day, another 'job', another wound for Simon to suture. A knife wound, to make a change from the seemingly endless number of bullets he extracted from various members of Serenity's crew. To be more specific, a knife wound to Mal's ribs that had come dangerously close to sliding past bone and puncturing a lung.

Simon took a certain perverse satisfaction in knowing that the placement of the wound meant that Mal would be reminded of it every time he moved, skin pulling against the sutures each time he lifted his arm, or twisted from the waist, or breathed deeply. He'd supply pain relief, naturally, but the reminder would still be there. Not that he expected it to make any difference to how soon the captain was back in his infirmary with another wound to be stitched.

"Shirt off, please." Turning his back on Mal, Simon pulled on his gloves, a tray of supplies already set out in anticipation of injuries. Only Mal this time, Buddha be praised, and not Jayne. Jayne wasn't exactly the most cooperative patient Simon had ever treated.

There was a rustle of fabric behind him, and a quiet grunt of pain. "Ain't you even gonna buy me a drink first? 'Cause I ain't cheap, Doc."

Simon snorted, set the tray closer to the exam table, and turned back. "No alcohol with the medication, Captain. Lie back, please."

Please. Always please. Not that he ever had a please in return, or a thank you. He'd given up on expecting that from patients approximately six hours into his internship. When people were in pain, they weren't given to remembering their manners.

Mal had managed to slide his right arm out of his shirt, but the left side remained in place, fabric darkened by blood where it adhered to skin. Pressing his lips tightly together over the reproof that wanted to escape, Simon spared a wistful moment to remember the times when nurses or interns would have prepared his patients, and used a small sponge to dampen the shirt, waiting for water to soak through.

"No drinks…guess you're gonna tell me we ain't going out to dinner, neither?"

"Not before I stop you from bleeding all over my infirmary, no." Or ever, considering that he couldn't exactly leave the ship in the middle of space, or on any planet where his face could be recognized and bring about his arrest. Or considering that the captain was only teasing, and didn't actually mean anything by the words.

"After, then. Ow!"

Simon gave a tight smile, and eased Mal's shirt down his left arm and off. "Your shirt's going to need stitching, as well." As well as the wound which stood out starkly against smooth, golden skin. It wouldn't be the first scar to sit there, landscape of Mal's torso scattered with paler streaks, ridges and dips in varying sizes.

"Won't be the first time." Mal shrugged, then hissed breath between his teeth and froze.

"Lie _back_ ," Simon repeated, one hand against Mal's shoulder to enforce his words, then pressed a hypo of local anesthetic to Mal's side before the captain had a chance to protest.

There was blessed silence for a few minutes while Simon carefully and methodically cleaned out the wound, removing every trace of fabric and other debris with steady swabs as the bleeding slowed and stopped. Not serious, he was very grateful to learn, far from serious, but just millimeters away from being life-threatening.

Selecting a needle, he glanced up to see Mal watching him intently. That was unusual enough; most of the time the captain, and every other patient he'd ever had, avoided watching him work as much as possible. "I trust my work meets your approval?" he asked, a little acidly.

"I, uh…yeah. Approval," Mal agreed, still looking down at the point where Simon's latex-coated, blood-stained fingers rested against his skin. "So, about that dinner…"

Simon blinked, and then forced his attention away from fantasy land and back to his patient. His _patient_ , who was probably slightly delirious from the pain and the anesthetic, and possibly even in shock. Mal wasn't displaying any of the classic signs, though, skin warm under his hands, breathing steady and pulse strong. Still… "Do you feel dizzy at all, Captain?" Since Mal would never admit to weakness. "Any nausea?"

It was possible that there were further injuries that he'd missed, distracted by the obvious knife wound, and Simon silently cursed himself for not checking earlier. His priority was still to treat the obvious source of blood loss, but if Mal was going into shock, he could fix a temporary dressing and run a deeper scan.

"Nausea?" Mal appeared confused. "Could be that I'm kinda dizzy, but…"

Simon's concern grew, stool pushing back as he stood, reaching blindly for the dressings he knew would be within reach. "Lie _back_ , Captain. Please." A kick to the switch below the table and it tilted back, lowering Mal's head and raising his feet. The bleeding from the chest wouldn't reopen unless Mal moved suddenly, and that didn't seem likely. Dressing taped swiftly in place, and an oxygen mask pressed over Mal's startled face, simple monitor to track pulse rate and if the scan showed any signs…no. Nothing. Nothing beyond the old internal scarring that Mal's scans usually showed. No internal bleeding, not even any new bruising. No broken bones, no blood clots, no restriction to the lungs. Nothing except the obvious wound and the irritated confusion on Mal's face.

Resisting the urge to run hands through his hair or scratch at his neck, because either would require new gloves and supplies were limited, Simon stood back, checked the readings one more time, and decided to leave the monitors in place. Just in case. Best to remove the oxygen mask, though, even if he wasn't looking forward to hearing whatever protests Mal had to voice about his treatment, and sit down again, selecting a pre-threaded needle.

Miraculously, Mal said nothing. Not a single word, and Simon's sense of _wrongness_ increased as he removed the temporary dressing and began to stitch, looking away from his work for a precious second to meet puzzled blue eyes. "I…should have checked before," he explained lamely, unable to let the silence continue. Mal had a way of leaving silences that just asked for them to be filled, and Simon couldn't resist filling them. "I'd rather you didn't actually die under my care."

The thought was enough to send cold shivers down his spine, settling heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach. Swallowing hard against the fear threatening to close his throat, Simon returned his attention to his sutures, placing them carefully, knots settled neatly above the wound each time.

"Conjure you'd rather not," Mal replied dryly. Simon had the distinct impression that if he looked up again, Mal would still be watching.

He didn't look up.

Mal sighed, skin and muscle shifting under Simon's fingers, and he paused, waiting for the captain to settle again.

"See," Mal continued conversationally, "thing is, if I died, wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world for me to be taking you out to dinner. Since you ain't gonna ask me, despite the increasing number of occasions you've been seeing me with my clothes off."

Simon tied off the final stitch, wondering if perhaps he was the one in shock. Without replying, he set the needle down on the tray, taped a fresh dressing over his stitches, stood up, and moved the table aside. He kicked the switch to return the table to the upright position and crossed to the sink to strip off his gloves. Behind him, the heart monitor beeped steadily, reassuring him of Mal's continued existence. "I believe that you're forgetting that I'm a fugitive, Captain, and I can't go out anywhere for dinner without being arrested for kidnap, fraud, breaking and entering and quite possibly high treason."

"Believe you're forgetting the number of folks I deal with likely to be arrested on a daily basis." Mal's voice was rich with amusement. "Gonna be taking this thing off me so's I can get back to dealing with them and booking us a place for dinner?"

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, muttered a quiet prayer for his sanity, and returned to Mal, leaning in close to remove the monitor pads with the minimum of discomfort. "I haven't agreed to go with you."

Close, so close. Close enough that Simon could feel the warmth of Mal's breath against his cheek. Deep and steady and strong - not the breathing of a man in shock. "You ain't refused me, neither, and I'm thinking I'll take what I can get."

The sharp retort Simon had ready died on his lips when he lifted his head and found Mal's face so close to his. Found Mal's mouth so close to his, found Mal leaning up and brushing lips over his. "Ain't gonna tell me no, are you, Simon?"

It was the first time Simon had ever heard his name from the captain, rather than simply his title. "No," he confessed, before he could think to stop it, and dipped his head to return the kiss before he could say anything else foolish.


End file.
